Anyhoo!
A couple of weeks ago Mummy and I went to the CMP Xmas picnic and met some lovely woman called Young Oak who maintained she had known me all my life. I didn't think much of it at the time, but then she left me a comment here on the blog, so I asked those parents of mine what the story was.
Young Oak apparently was the lady who looked after Mummy when she was pregnant with me. So all that interutero prodding and poking, all that wiggling of my poor head to see if it was engaged - all her! Mummy says that Young Oak was a veritable angel, who swept down upon our family thanks to a wonderful primary care midwifery program we have here in the land of three wheeler prams. The CMP espouses natural childbirth with minimal intervention and an early discharge program. This naturally appealed to Mummy, who at that time was determined to be the crunchiest hippy mum on the block (amazing how she's given up on that whole idea now!)
The reality of my entrance into the world was a little different..... The week before my ETA it became obvious I was on my way- I mean when Auntie Josie and Uncle Denis both rang to find Mummy washing the windows, they knew something was up. By 1.30 am the next morning Mummy was in very early labour. However after nearly two days of labour, Mummy wasn't getting anywhere and I wasn't any closer to getting the hell out of there. Mummy was exhausted, Daddy was exhausted, Nellie was a nervous wreck, Auntie Josie had visions of Mummy having a C section because I was taking so long and Mum's boss Neralie had the shits because Mummy wasn't answering her calls or emails. Once we did manage to get things going and arrived at the hospital, Mummy demanded to be taken upstairs to the Delivery Suite to get 'the good stuff'.
Once Mummy finally got her narcotics, sorry epidural (you should hear her version of how grateful she was to the anesthesiologist!) she was a much happier camper.
Eventually I made my appearance into this world, cradled by a pair of salad tongs straight into the waiting arms of my beautiful Mummy. The whole experience was, in hindsight pretty traumatic. Mummy was however, proud of herself for asking for intervention when it was needed (after her inital fear that Young Oak would be disappointed with her for not managing to have the waterbirth that they'd planned.) Daddy still says that Mummy vomiting on him during transition was the worst part (too much gas.... Mum got carried away with the nitrous oxide - it reminded her of a particularly debaucherous afternoon on the floor of the bathroom of the flat in Oxford St with Auntie Laurinda.)
Mummy and Daddy still say it was the most amazing experience of their lives, made so much better by the support of a great midwife. Daddy misses his freedom, and Mummy misses her pelvic floor muscles but they wouldn't have it any other way.
So thank you Young Oak, thank you.
2 comments:
Good to see Mummy writing about her birth experience Walter. Very therapeutic!
A good read! Thanks!
Auntie Becca, are you infering that I didn't write this post myself?
Humph!
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